


Sick

by HamJuice



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22997800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamJuice/pseuds/HamJuice
Summary: Aranis hates being sick but is never one to pass up the opportunity to be looked after by Solas.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Kudos: 27





	Sick

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is Aranis, my best friend's Lavellan, and this is a drabble! xo

**Sick**

It had started with a cough. A small, inconsistent heave of the lungs that was quickly dismissed as a dry throat from so much time in the Western Approach. 

A chill ripped through Aranis’ body as she stood from her writing desk and her hand instinctively went to her forehead. Warm. Clammy. 

She had a meeting with Josephine in half an hour and she had promised to discuss the disappearance of the Seekers with Cassandra. It was not a good time to be ill. 

It was never a good time to be ill. 

Aranis scrambled to wipe the palms of her hands on the tops of her thighs as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. In a hurried motion, she scrambled back to her desk, stacking and unstacking her paperwork in an effort to seem productive. Solas’ familiar silhouette came into view, his presence providing some comfort. He smiled and greeted her but was clearly puzzled when she did not stand. In truth, Aranis simply lacked the energy. 

In an instant he was crouched on the ground beside her chair, taking her left hand into his own. “You promised me that you would tell me if the Anchor troubled you further, Vhenan.” 

“It’s not the Anchor, Ma sa’lath. I’m simply a little under the weather. Nothing serious.” 

“You are clearly not well.” Solas gently pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “In fact, you have a fever.” 

“I was just standing by the fire!” Aranis brushed his hand away in protest. “I’m not sick!” 

A chuckle came from Solas’ throat in a deep rumble. “Deny the truth all you like it does not change the facts.” 

“Which are?” 

“Now you’re just stalling.” 

“I most certainly am not,” Aranis defended, her smile not quite meeting her eyes. It was a poor charade she had constructed and, from the look in Solas’ eyes, he wasn’t buying it. “Fine. I will take a break for the rest of the day.” 

“And until you are well again,” Solas added, taking her hand and leading her back towards the bed. “Get comfortable. I will fetch some tea.” 

“You hate tea.” 

“But I won’t deny its medicinal qualities.” The bed dipped under Solas’ weight as he sat beside her, pulling up the covers to keep Aranis warm. “Promise me you won’t run off?” 

“And leave you all alone?” 

Solas replied with a smile Aranis watched as he quickly descended the stairs. Even in his hurry he moved with such quiet grace few would expect from a quiet apostate. Then again, Aranis knew stranger things had happened. 

She had become so lost in thought Aranis all but forgot about her scheduled meetings. By her estimate she was no more than a half hour late for her meeting with Josephine. She had been so adamant about discussing the upcoming ball at the Winter Palace and Aranis hated to disappoint her. 

_ I should at least tell her why I can’t make it.  _

Aranis began to pull away the heavy covers, her fingers struggling to grip the fabric. Almost on queue, she heard Solas walking up the stairs. Much to her dismay, he caught her in the act; one foot already on the floor. 

“You are going to stay in this bed and that’s final.” Solas rushed to her side, picking her legs up by the ankles and depositing them back on the mattress with a huff. “What you need right now is rest and medicine.” 

“What if I get you sick?” 

“I am willing to take my chances,” Solas assured her. “Someone needs to watch over you.” 

“I don’t need anyone.” Aranis quickly bit her tongue. 

Solas seemed to take no issue with her words. Instead, he simply leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on her admittedly sweaty forehead. Without a word, Solas slipped into the bed beside her, silently urging her to lean against him. The book’s spine crinkled as he let it fall open in his lap. Her neck craned to see the title;  _ Kirkwall: The City of Chains.  _ It didn’t sound like a book that would pique Solas’ interests and it dawned on Aranis it must have been the most accessible volume on his trek back from the kitchens. 

The tea he had brought her was her favorite, garnished with plenty of honey to ease the pain in her throat. He waited until she was done, his reach allowing him to set the cup on the bedside table. 

A long silence followed as his eyes flitted over the first few pages, reviewing the content. By now, the sun was hanging low in the sky, golden light washing over Aranis’ cozy bedroom. She didn’t remember when Solas started to read aloud, the soft cadence of his voice all but captivating her. 

~*~

Solas had lost track of the time; the sun long gone behind the horizon. Aranis still lay tucked in the crook of his arm, fast asleep, her chest rising and falling in time with his own. Occasionally, she would shift or draw a stuffy inhale. He called frost to his fingertips and pressed them to her forehead. Still warm. He’d join her in the Fade soon enough but Solas was never one to waste rare opportunities such as this. It was not often they had time to themselves. Day after day they were surrounded by agents, friends, and nobles. The time they stole was all too fleeting, and thus, all the more valuable.

Shifting slightly, Solas moved lower on the bed, resting his head on the pillow beside Aranis, his arm still tightly wrapped around her. For a moment he took the time to examine her room, finding it filled with the little trinkets they found in their travels. 

Solas pressed his lips to the top of her head, breathing in a scent that was uniquely her. His whisper was all too quiet but he knew the meaning could be felt even as she explored the Fade. Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma. 

His gaze drew lower to where her left hand could be seen clenching and unclenching in her sleep. He knew it caused her discomfort though she insisted it did not. He could see the way her fist balled to ease the ache of the Anchor or how she studied it by the campfire when she thought no one was looking. Another one of his great failings and she suffered for it. That was the greatest failure of them all. 

  
  
  



End file.
